And If There Were Ever
by CBK1000
Summary: 'Victor Hugo once said, try as you will, you cannot annihilate that eternal relic of the human heart, love. But in an alleyway he is stumbled upon by a girl with so much light in her eyes, and if man cannot annihilate that eternal relic of the heart so too does monster adhere somehow to this sentiment.' Caroline as the original vamp.


**Some of you might at this very moment be demanding to know why the hell I am posting this rather than the second part of No Sooner the Old Hope, but rest assured: I have only a little left to go on it and anticipate posting it by next weekend.**

**This is just a little thing, a concept piece if you will, and really it's not my fault anyway, because a tumblr user who shall remain nameless (somethingofthewolf) practically begged me to post another one-shot between the update of my Originals series. I'm not going to point fingers or anything (somethingofthewolf), but if you despise this, I heap all blame onto this person who shall remain nameless. (Somethingofthewolf.)**

**This is basically just a preview for a fic I am planning on writing once my alternative Originals series is wrapped up. The premise is of Caroline as the original vampire, which I know has been done before in one-shots, but I want to explore a very in-depth story showing both her transformation from human to monster as well as Klaus'. I do not intend to simply swap these two characters around, to graft Klaus' personality onto Caroline and vice versa; I want to explore Klaus as a nice human boy who gets lost somewhere along the way, to discover just how low Caroline can plunge if she has no family or friends to keep her afloat, to give her something to be better for. I am merely switching up their circumstances, not their backgrounds or their core personalities. I also don't want to fiddle about too much with their voices, because that is what makes them Caroline and Klaus to me, so even though this will be a modern day Klaus, he'll still have a more formal feel to him; we'll just say he's an old soul, a bit eccentric after spending so much time in isolation with his paintings. ****If not fucked up astronomically, I think this could be really great.**

**Anyway, please enjoy this little teaser, but if for some reason you do not, you know who to direct your unhappiness to. *coughsomethingofthewolfcough***

* * *

All man is born.

He is conceived, sheltered, nurtured.

For nine months he floats unknowing.

His concept of love is undeveloped, his understanding of hate not yet formed, his needs embryonic, his limbs still maturing.

He is a blank slate.

One day he emerges, and he is not yet human, he is still too confused, his limbs locked, his mouth frozen, and for just a moment he is not sure whether to take his first breath or to return from whence he has come, to let the film upon his lips suck itself down into his lungs, to close his eyes upon these lights too bright, to shut his ears to these voices too loud.

And then over his hair goes a hand.

Into his neck burrows a nose.

What he understands first is the touch of Mother, this soft deity with her limp wet hair and her soft wet eyes.

Her smile dims the lights and her first introductory words drown the voices and between man and mother a chain forms itself with noose inevitability, not so tangible as the umbilical cord but still this chain is no less authentic, it binds them eternally, they each feel its tug, never can he sever its length, forever will she savor its presence.

Fewer men are reborn, but there is little difference.

Awakened in blood, sated by drink.

But his mother- ah, mates, now there's the rub.

Her boy is a man no more.

He walks still on two legs but his instincts are of the four-legged and though divinity is prone to forgiveness, the spiritual conceived for the sinners, this deity called Mother cannot stretch her pardon quite so far.

From her touch you drew courage and at her voice you decided to stay and for twenty-five years you have desired only to deserve this soft smile and to earn these kind words, but where are they _now _when you skid with panicked call into her room, when you stretch out your red hands for her own and you just want to know, _please_, what is _happening_, what have you made him into, from where do all these sounds, smells, _needs _originate- _help _him-

Father has taught you to hate.

Bekah has asked that you not succumb.

Elijah believes, Finn trusts, Kol idolizes.

But _mother _it was always _your _approval- that was all he ever _wanted- _what else should he _require- _do not push him _away please_-

An egg is released, an embryo forms.

A fetus grows.

It stretches out its alien limbs and it blinks its extraterrestrial eyes and then its mother lays her hand upon this strange inhuman head and suddenly he is a boy.

But what one giveth so too may one taketh away.

Mother-

Mother, _monster_, no, _no_-

He didn't mean it- the girl was only so _warm_, it was quick, mother, he _promises_, he didn't want her to _suffer_, he would never, don't you _know _him, mother- remember how carefully he tended Bekah's childhood scrapes, how tenderly he stroked Henrik's soft infant down- it's _Nik_, mother, hasn't he spent his whole bloody _life _trying so _hard_- hasn't he been _good _enough to earn your reprieve-

All man is born.

They quicken within the womb, they stretch still more rapidly outside of it, they exchange clumsy fawn rubber for sturdy human limbs.

The taller they reach, the more that limp wet hair and those soft wet eyes recede.

One day, they are only specks.

They cringe away until you do not see them anymore, they push away, fall back, they do not want your dirty hands on their own, they will not suffer your touch, how could you possibly even harbor the _illusion _of arms held out for your embrace, what a _thing _you have become, how undeserving you are, just as your father always suspected-

Her chest gives so easily, this woman who brought you into the world and guided your first steps and eased your first bruises.

Bekah-

Bekah does not realize, she loves you still, she presses your streaked face into her neck, she strokes your blood-spattered curls, she doesn't _see _what mother at last observed and father always knew-

All man is born, but all monsters are created.

You see, there was once this boy called Nik.

He loved his mother, he venerated his father, he adored his siblings. He had few friends but among their scarceness was a girl with supple brown hair and kind brown eyes who understood his pain, who wanted to make it better, who never quite loved him enough.

But this boy called Nik persevered.

The girl did not love him enough and father never returned his adulation and between his siblings there existed a barrier erected by this father who never returned his adulation, but a mother does not mind, she loves him twice as much as the girl, she takes down the barrier when the father is not looking, she gives him stories to sleep to, she holds his hand after dark.

She lies with open mouth and unseeing eyes.

His mother christened him Niklaus, his sister termed him Nik, his transition renamed him Klaus.

In the shadows he lets the boy die.

* * *

There is a concept among humans of immediate connection, a compatibility of heart, soul, sexuality.

A thousand years ago she was a girl, and she believed in this link.

Somewhere out there, he understands, and he is waiting.

For three hundred years she clung to this notion of the soul, this tiny little thing that resides so deep and is bared so infrequently, this thing that stays a man's hand and halts a woman's duplicity.

For three hundred years, she looked about with bright smile and shining eyes for someone to know it on sight, for someone to hold out their hand, to tell her, here I am, I looked down deep, I saw underneath and here I still _stand_, it's over, your isolation is at an end, your sole reign has reached its termination.

But you can't keep hoping forever.

You see, there was once this girl called Caroline.

She loved her mother, she missed her father, she adored her friends.

She had no shortage of lovers but there was not one among them who understood her pain, who wanted to make it better, who loved her quite enough.

But this girl called Caroline persevered.

Those boys didn't love her enough and Daddy never came back to see her and between her friends there was this…this _obstacle _she could never quite scale, and mom you never saw her, mom you never _understood_, but she did ok, she tried not to mind, she built herself a breastplate of sunshine and she ventured forth with her I-will-always-be-all-right smile, and she _tried_.

For three hundred years, she tried.

Maybe her skin didn't crinkle and her hair did not gray but she never stopped being _human_, you see, she held on, she refused to let go, she fought revolutions for the downtrodden and led uprisings for the poor, and for _what _-did you ever _thank _her- did you ever not turn her _away_- we want another, you are not good enough, try harder, be something _more_-

One day, you just stop trying.

It doesn't happen all at once, you don't harden your heart and shutter your soul in a night, at first it's just one throat, a little taste, a longer sip, and then suddenly you remember that once a man like this used you up and he tossed you aside, and you dig deeper, you pull _harder_-

In the shadows, you leave behind a girl.

She had a smile.

She nurtured a soul.

She strides forth with neither of these and she goes forth to burn the world.

She is a whisper hissed around, a legend passed down, a fable, a warning, a nightmare.

In the 17th century she commands an army and in the 18th she brings down a kingdom and in this way she makes her way through time, hunting men, slaughtering children, building and tearing down and reconstructing as she pleases.

Not good enough, is she? Not strong enough, pretty enough, _smart _enough- freaking _unworthy _is she, humanity-

In an alleyway she finds a boy without a mother.

He smiles with nothing in his eyes, he does not fear her wrath, he gives no shits if he lives, he tells her do what you will, sweetheart, I have seen true evil, it is not you.

It is not her.

It isn't _her_.

How could it not be _her_- do you know what she has _done_, do you understand how far she has _fallen_-

She finds this boy without a mother and she holds him up by the throat and she looks deep into his eyes, and she lets him go.

He does not run far.

* * *

Victor Hugo once said, try as you will, you cannot annihilate that eternal relic of the human heart, love.

Mikael did his best to smother its flame, to leave behind nothing but the ash.

Hate is so much _stronger_, boy, hate does not thicken your throat or sting your eyes, hate fortifies, strengthens, _enlarges _a man, it leaves no room for poetry, for paint, you will not break if it falters, you are bolstered by it, _bettered _by it-

But in an alleyway he is stumbled upon by a girl with so much light in her eyes, who like his father before him has smudged out her cinders, who smiles with no warmth, who offers no mercy, who leaves herself open when she looks down deep into him.

If man cannot annihilate that eternal relic of the heart so too does monster adhere somehow to this sentiment.

He has been broken, she lies shattered.

But there is the girl known as Caroline and the boy called Nik and what is often presumed lost has only been misplaced, and one day it finds its way back.

There are arms for girls who were never cherished enough and boys who wanted so much.

If a mother's love is not eternal it need not mean none will ever be.


End file.
